


The Professional

by shortystylee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortystylee/pseuds/shortystylee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ModernAU. Loosely based on Luc Besson's Leon the Professional. When Arya comes home to find her family murdered by the Lannisters, she runs and seeks refuge with her neighbor, Gendry Waters, who turns out to be a hitman in the Baratheon crime syndicate, eventually being mentored by him to take out her own revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One.

He didn't need information from the Spider this time. He knew exactly who was moving into the large flat next to his the second he saw the parade of dark brown haired heads mixed with auburn colored ones walk out of the two SUVs parked in front along the curb and then disappear into the front door of the building.

Starks.

He knew they'd be moving into the flat next to him, it was the largest, and besides that, it was the only vacancy.

What he didn't know was why they were moving here, what had brought them from Winterfell Estate to the warmth of Kings Landing in the beginning of summer. He didn't know why, but he knew that the Spider would. When Gendry needed information or when someone needed to get information to him it always came from the Spider. Never directly, he'd only met him that once. Every time after that, the information about whom his next assignment would be, when the manila envelope full of information, photos, and a USB stick if he was lucky, would be deposited in one of the hundreds of safety deposit boxes across Kings Landing, anything else his bosses needed to communicate.

He walked to the kitchen table, picked up the pre-paid flip phone, dialed one of the few numbers he had committed to memory, and once he heard two rings he shut the phone and held it in his hand, waiting.

The Spider called back, already aware of the reason for the call. The worst part, he also had no idea why the Starks had moved there. He had been going around and around with his informants, his "little birds," and they knew nothing.

Gendry Waters had never been more afraid in his life.

Later that evening, he arrived back at his flat from rounds of cheap beer and billiards at the local dive-bar with the only two friends he allowed himself to have, _of course, they're all Baratheon men too_ , he thought, but he didn't dare talk about his new neighbors, or the "work" the three of them did in general for that matter. They all knew who they were and what they did. There was Hot Pie, 24 years old, overweight with an insatiable appetite for baked goods, losing his money at billiards to Gendry, and luckily for them all, driving getaway cars as fast as all hell when he needed to. Next to Hot Pie at their normal booth that evening was Lommy Greenhands, a young kid according to Gendry, only nineteen or so, but he'd been caught trying to pass off counterfeit money at one of the many Baratheon owned establishments in Kings Landing when he was even younger than that and instead of doing what they'd normally do, they brought Lommy into the organization for the potential they saw in him. Baratheon would never get into something so low-brow as trying to counterfeit money so he was quickly taught to be their cleaner - if anyone did a particularly unclean job of finishing their work, Lommy would be in there in no time flat to fix things.

Once home, his slightly buzzed mind decided to go through his files he kept and look up as much as he could on the Starks. He'd never had a Stark as an assignment, if it ever needed to come to that he figured it would be way above his clearance, _I'm pretty sure that we're allies with them from way back anyways_ , he thought, but he still wondered if he might have some information on them. He had folders he kept hidden, just in case maintenance or anyone unsuspecting decided to rummage through his things. Flipping through the box of manila folders, he got to the very bottom, not finding any labeled STARK, and instead pulling out the GENDRY WATERS folder.

Both Hot Pie and Lommy admittedly came from nothing, and when they had all had too much to drink and asked Gendry about his life before Baratheon, he made up the same story he would always tell them.

He kept flipping through his own folder and pulled up a picture of himself, aged nine, with his mother kneeling next to him, a beautiful blonde haired woman. So full of life for someone that would die so soon after that photo. He'd tell them that part.

The next picture was a group photo from the government-subsidized boys' home he'd lived in from nine and a half until he turned seventeen. He tried to remember his age, fifteen? _That's right, it was the first time the guys from the army had looked at me when they came by recruiting._ They'd always stopped in, but at fifteen it was the first time they were interested in him. They looked for young kids with any sort of potential but no loving home to hold them back or convince them not to kill themselves or do something stupid. He'd tell them about the boys' home, but never about the army.

_No, never about the army._ He joined as soon as he turned seventeen, the home anxiously signing his papers. The lines to get in were long to get in and he was just another mouth to feed. He flipped over the next picture, it was only him. Complete dress uniform on his induction day, Westerosi flag waving proudly in the background. They'd said he had a talent like they'd never seen. Every target they'd set up, he could line up his shot and hit it dead-on, first try. No matter how far away they'd put it or whatever kind of distraction they tried. He was a sharp-shooter, on a team comprised of other elite marksmen. They'd bring them in for hostage situations, raids, he was even part of the team that took down the Norvosi terrorists that had been hiding out in the mountains in Dorne. That little skirmish had been all over the news, Westeros and beyond.

Gendry definitely did not tell them about that.

The next paper he pulled out wasn't paper at all, but a large sheet of thin black and white plastic. A familiar dull ache coursed through his right shoulder as he pulled out the x-ray and held it up to the light.

Gunshot wound, not fatal, upper right shoulder. Healed, partially, there would always be some shards that would be pestering him the rest of his life. _And that's where all this began_ , he remembered. _Gunshot wound, discharged, back on the streets. But not for long. It only took a week or so of living off cereal and cup noodles in a pay-by-the-week motel for the Spider to find me_. He came home to find the middle-aged bald man, calm, collected, sitting in the desk chair at the motel.

"What in the seven hells are you doing in my room?" he'd yelled, pulling his hand gun out of the waistband of his jeans and pointing it square at the visitor. The man didn't flinch, not once. "How'd you even get in here?"

"I get where I need to," he replied, his voice calm, soft, and somewhat monotone. He didn't bother to take his eyes off of Gendry. "I don't think you really want to shoot me, boy. You wouldn't, if you knew who I was… and who I am connected to." Still sitting, he reached inside his long khaki trench coat and tossed a folder of papers and photographs onto the bed, fanning out on the thin comforter. There were his report cards from middle school and the two years of high school he bothered to attend, his recruitment papers from the army, family photos and polaroids from his childhood, even photographs from today – his walk from the grocer back to the motel this morning, pictures from his practice time at the range after lunch.

Gendry stood there stunned, the arm that was previously extended straight out now hung at his side.

"Westero's grand army might not want you anymore, but someone else does," the man said after a few moments had passed.

"Who?"

"In good time, Mr. Waters, all in good time. But now, as a show of good faith from my boss to you." He stood up from the chair and handed him a padded envelope from inside this coat. Putting the gun back into his waistband, Gendry pulled out a cell phone and five-thousand in cash out of the envelope.

"There's only one number programmed in that phone. Call it within the next two days if you're interested. We'd be happy to have you."

With that, he finished the rest of the walk across the small room and let himself out, softly closing the door behind him. The whole time, Gendry wondered if he had ever really been there. He held the phone in his hand, flipping it open and pushing it closed a couple times and then thumbing through the cash. _How can this be real?_

But the phone was real, the cash was real, and as he found out sixteen hours and a couple pints later, the offer was very, very real.

Two.

Six months later, there was still no real news about what the Starks were doing in the flat next to his, but as each day passed, he started to pay less attention to it. He knew Ned Stark was involved with some kind of big business deal or merger with the Lannisters, hanging by a thin thread which was his eldest daughter's engagement to Cersei Lannister's eldest son, who also happened to be the ex-wife of the boss he'd never met. _Gods damn glad I'm on the low rung_ , he'd always told himself. _Don't know how that lot manages to keep their lives straight_. He liked his life, as much as he could. He had just turned 26, he had two dopey friends that were almost like bad movie sidekicks, and he was able to spend his free time doing whatever he felt like, going to the shooting range, working out, tending to that blasted houseplant. _Just have to follow orders and kill someone every so often, no big deal. Paid better than the army did too._

He saw most of the Stark family in passing in the hallways and aside from the occasional greeting he never said a word to any of them, except the other girl, the younger one. The one that seemed to stick out, was a bit different, maybe a little disenchanted with the whole privileged kid in a rich family situation, if he had to guess. _What I wouldn't have given for that. Nice house to live in, family that seemed to care_. He ran into her once late at night when he was walking home after being out at the bar with Lommy and Hot Pie. She was outside of the building sitting on the curb, rundown jeans, boots, and a large t-shirt making her seem already smaller than was. It was spitting rain out, and she looked up at him, taking a long drag from her cigarette and staring up at him with hard grey eyes.

He still doesn't know why he said it.

"Ya know, those'll kill ya."

She still stared, scrunching her face up at him. "Piss off," she said, turning her back away from him and occupying herself with whatever it was she was doing. He shrugged his shoulders and left her there, going back inside.

_That girl is not my responsibility_ , he thought. _If she wants to sit out here in the rain at 2am, that's Ned Stark's problem._

In a week, she would become his responsibility.

Tuesday morning he woke up late. There'd been a job the night before, a rival "businessman" that had been giving one of the distant Baratheon cousins a bit of trouble lately and he'd been called on by the Spider to shut that situation down. He slept in, hung over from closing down the bar with Hot Pie on a Monday night. When he got home he'd felt a little pathetic about that and the look the bartender gave him. _Fuck them_ , he'd thought. _You press a gun to someone's head and actually fire it and see if you don't feel up for downing a couple beers._

He began his usual routine. Started brewing coffee, poured a glass of milk for himself, kept the container on the table for his cereal, got the cereal out of the pantry. Watered the houseplant that wouldn't die. That was when he heard it. Someone knocking, pounding at the door. It wasn't his, it had to be the Starks' door. That was the only one he'd have been able to hear and feel that well.

As silently as someone with his build could, he tiptoed over to the front door, first trying to watch out the peephole, then resigning himself to listening. Whoever had shown up was clearly upset, though calm at first, and once he heard the front door shut the muffled voices quickly turned to furious shouting, though he couldn't make out what was actually being said. From then there was crashing furniture, women's voices screaming followed by what was most definitely a child's voice.

He counted the gun shots when they started, but gave up once he got past twenty. There was no point.

He heard the door push open, footsteps in the hallway, too many to tell the number of people, and then watched out his window as a black sedan peeled out of the alleyway next to the building. A large white commercial van pulled up in its place and watched two men dressed as janitors come into the building. He wasn't surprised at all when he heard their footsteps in the hallway and bits and pieces of their mumbled conversation.

About fifteen minutes later, he heard the noise of the city bus pulling up to the stop across the street. Out of instinct, he ran as softly as he could to his window that faced the street and pushed the curtains open just in time to see the same girl from the other night exit the bus and cross the street, carrying two fabric grocery bags over her shoulders.

_Oh, shit_ , was all he thought as he unlocked the window and pushed it upwards and open. Looking around at what was near him, he saw a jar of change and grabbed it, pouring out a handful of coins into his left hand and throwing them one at a time at her as she neared, trying to get her attention.

She looked up at him, dumbfounded, and flipped him off without hesitation. Another coin was thrown in reply.

"What the hell do—" she started to yell, but he immediately waved his arms and brought his finger to his lips in any attempt to get her to shut up. He held out his hand to tell her to wait, before frantically waving towards the building. She cocked her head to the side and shrugged, then continued into the building.

Gendry was back at his front door seconds later, listening to the sounds of the clean crew in the Stark apartment. They'd make a loud noise and he'd unlock the door chain. They'd make another loud noise and he'd unlock the dead bolt. At the next loud noise he gently turned the handle and eased it open. It was then that he heard the girl's footsteps coming up the stairs. He opened the door just wide enough to stick his head through and caught her attention the instant she rounded towards their doors. He gave her a pointed look and she seemed to understand. Walking softly she made her way towards the door to her own apartment, _I can't believe their cleaner left it cracked_ , he thought. _Lannisters, always out of control. Think they're unstoppable, never gonna get caught._

Gendry knew she looked inside as she passed, it was plain as day on her face. He watched as she took a deep breath and continued her walk, nimbly sliding in to his apartment through the small opening he allowed. Repeating his actions, he waited for noises from her apartment and locked his door during each one.

They sat on the floor in silence for the next two hours.

When he finally heard the door shut and then two pairs of footsteps travel down the hallway, then the stairs, then soon out of earshot, he walked over to his window to try to peek and make sure they were leaving. They were.

Gendry didn't try to explain what had happened. For some reason, just by looking at her and trying to read the little bit of body language she allowed herself, he knew that she knew. There was no explanation from him that would help.

He gave her ten minutes to go through the apartment and grab whatever she felt she needed. The bodies were gone and the blood had been cleaned up. After all, they'd been in his apartment for just over two hours at that point and the cleaners had arrived before she had. It was immaculate, the same type of work he'd expect from Lommy, except Gendry knew better. Lommy was no Lannister man no more than he himself was. It had to be Lannisters, only they would go in like this. Unclean, make a bloodbath only because they knew they had pros to clean it up all nice afterwards. Take out the mother, the sister, and the younger brothers.

He stood in the doorway and watched as she ran around frantically, grabbing her belongings and trying to decide what to take. She grabbed a normal sized black backpack and walked across the room, avoiding the broken glass and furniture all while shoving what had to be in clothes into it as she went. She made a stop in another room on the other side of the apartment before joining him again in the hallway.

"Is that everything?" He asked.

"Everything that matters," she replied, nodding her head.

"You got a cell phone?" She nodded again and pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, holding out a shiny silver smart phone at him. She watched with wide eyes as he took the phone, dropping it on the floor and crushing it to pieces under his boot. "They're Lannisters, but they aren't stupid. They know you exist and they'll sure as shit be using that to track you as soon as they can. Now come on, you said you've got everything so it's time we got the hell outta here. I don't intend to be here when they come back looking for ya."

She didn't have anything to say to that, just nodding yet again and following him out the door. Gendry made a quick stop inside his apartment, grabbing a packed duffle bag that he always had at the ready and throwing some more winter clothes in along with the files he kept hidden. He made sure he had his cell phone for getting in touch with the Spider as well as its charger, gun cases conveniently disguised as a briefcase and a laptop bag, car keys, and houseplant before walking out the door and down the stairs, Arya Stark at his heels.

They drove through the city for a couple hours in his beat up old Buick, in silence the whole time. This wasn't exactly the type of situation that made for a great conversation starter. _Say, I know you came home from the shops this morning to find your whole family murdered and now you're in a car with your strange neighbor who's ten years older then you, but did I forget to mention that I also kill people for a living?_

They'd been up and down and across town about three times at the point when Gendry realized he needed an actual plan. _I'll bet the Peach has some open rooms. Shit hole like that is never full up._

"How'd you know they were Lannisters?" she finally asked once they were in their room. It was small, poorly lit, and had smelled remarkably close to wet dog, but the way Gendry figured was that they needed someplace safe, far from their other apartment building, and most importantly of all, under Baratheon influence. It was for those reasons he ignored the peeling wallpaper, stained carpet, and shower water that came out not quite so clear at first.

He stared at her for a moment, trying to decide what to say. "You know what was in that briefcase I carried? What was in the laptop bags? Did you think I was a businessman?" She shook her head. "Normally I wouldn't say anything, but I think we're stuck with each other for a while, so I'll tell you. Promise you won't flip out?"

"Will you just fucking tell me?" she said. She rifled through the pockets of her jacket and Gendry knew she was searching for her cigarettes.

"They're guns," he said plainly, putting his foot up on the coffee table as he leaned back in the lone armchair in the room. "One is an old military Pentoshi sniper rifle and the other is your normal handgun. If I need anything different for a job, I know how to get it." He looked over to find her looking straight at him, mouth slightly agape, as if waiting for him to turn and look at her. She didn't say anything. "We all have jobs, yea? I get a call, I get some info, a picture or two, and a deadline. If the person in the picture is no longer a problem by the deadline, well then I get some cash too. They're the lion's men, but I'm the Stag's. Baratheon. They do their jobs just like I do mine."

She finally found her cigarettes at the bottom of her backpack and lit one up, climbing up on the bed and sitting cross-legged towards him. The whole place was technically no smoking, but it didn't seem like any previous occupants had listened to that rule either. "So what happens to me now? You gonna shoot me too? Turn me over to Robert Baratheon himself?" She was confident in her words, annoyed with him.

"I don't know, but neither of those things. I'll talk to some people in the morning, but right now, we're sleeping." He got up from the armchair and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt from his duffel bag, changed quickly in the bathroom and came back out to the main room.

"You're not seriously going to sleep? You really expect me to just put on my pajamas and climb into that bed next to you? I don't know who the hell you think you are, but –"

Gendry sighed. _What have I gotten myself into?_ "First – yes, I am seriously going to sleep. I had a job last night and woke up hungover this morning. I'm beat. Second – I don't expect you to do anything. You don't want to share the bed, that's fine, I'll sleep in the armchair. You don't want to sleep, then by all means, stay up. And third, since we're all about sharing – I'm Gendry Waters. I was a sharp shooter in the military until I was stupid and got myself shot," he explained, pointing to his shoulder. "So somehow, at 26, I'm making a living killing whoever some guy I've met only once tells me to. But I mean, I guess it beats pushing drugs, right? And you? You're Arya Stark. You're 17 and somehow disenchanted with the life as the daughter of a millionaire businessman. I'm not trying to be mean here and I'm not trying to scare you, but those people out there, the ones that just killed your whole family as easy as other people take the subway and do their dead-end office jobs, they're ruthless. Cruel. I don't want you thinking for one minute that they'd show any mercy to you if they found you. I don't know what we'll do, but I've got good contacts, the best some say, and we'll figure it out in the morning, 'kay kid?"

He watched give a slight nod of her head, put out the cigarette in a water glass on the bedside table, and lay down on the bed on top of the blankets. _At least she's got the right idea there_ , Gendry thought as he sat down on the side of the bed opposite from her, waiting to hear any protest to him sleeping there. When she said nothing and rolled onto her side away from him, he reached up and turned off the light, quickly falling asleep.

Gendry woke a few hours later, 2:38am according to the clock on the table. Something's not right, he thought. Rolling over to face the other side of the bed, he saw that Arya was no longer there, his first thought that she'd high-tailed it out of there the second he fell asleep, a thought which jolted him quickly out of grogginess. He sat up in the bed and as his eyes adjusted, he calmed, seeing the top of her head above the foot of the bed. _What in the seven hells is she doing sitting on the floor?_

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied curtly, harshly, but he immediately recognized the sniffling sound in her voice.

_She's been sitting up crying_ , he realized. _I'm surprised it took this long, but she doesn't seem like the heart-on-her-sleeve type._

Not knowing what he should do, he sat down next to her on the floor, crossing his legs and not saying a word. They sat there, in the dark, in silence for long enough that he wasn't sure if it had been a couple minutes or a half hour. After some point, he finally moved, taking his left arm and wrapping it around her shoulders. He felt her flinch at first, though he wasn't sure if it was because it was dark and she didn't see it coming, or if the sudden contact was unwelcome. She didn't move for a few seconds, until all of a sudden she turned to him, small hands curled into tiny fists beginning to hit him wherever she could. Arms, shoulders, chest. There was a surprising amount of strength in her despite her size and he knew he'd most likely have a smattering of bruises come morning. He pulled her tighter and eventually the punches became slower and weaker until they were replaced by sobs.

He could feel his t-shirt getting wet from her tears and feel her breath on his neck when she tried to catch it. _We'll just stay like this, as long as we have to_ , he thought. _Maybe the silence is good for her._

It wasn't long after that when she finally spoke.

"I... I need your help, Gendry," she started tentatively. He didn't want to say anything lest she decide to stop talking, or worse, run out the door, so he simply nodded, knowing she could feel the movement of his head against hers. "I'm the last true Stark now. It ends with me. I'm going to kill every last one of those bastards that did this to my family."

He pushed his head away from the side of hers but kept her close in front of him and steadied her, tears still running down her cheeks, by placing his hands on either side of his face. His eyes had adjusted enough to make out her features in the dark room. When she looked up at him as he quickly wiped her tears away, he was sure her eyes had adjusted too.

"You say you're the best at what you do. You've got the best contacts. Teach me how to do it," she said, dead serious and looking straight into his eyes. "Teach me how, Gendry, please."

Gendry nodded.

"Yes."


	2. Part Two

**Three**.

The alarm on the bedside table began to blare at 8am, jarring Gendry out of sleep and slowly bringing him back to reality as he looked around him, recognizing the peeling wallpaper and musty basement smell that was the Peach's signature. It was then when he realized why he wasn't sleeping in his own bed and remembered the events of yesterday.  _Shit. I was really hoping this was all some dream_. He slowly rolled over from his right side to his left and saw the other half of the bed with Arya still asleep, curled up on her side and beginning to stir.  _Nope, definitely not a dream. You've really gotten yourself in deep this time, haven't you, Waters?_

He slammed his fist down on the alarm clock to stop its beeping, and quickly hit the bathroom, brushing his teeth and getting dressed in the same clothes as yesterday. Seeing that she was in the same position as before, he left the room and walked to the gas station on the corner, returning with two Styrofoam cups of brown water disguised as coffee and two packs of strawberry pop-tarts. When he opened the door a few minutes later, she had moved from her spot on the bed and was sitting in one of the chairs next to the small dining table, aimlessly braiding her long mousey brown hair back away from her face, not sure what she was really supposed to do with herself.  _It's not like this is some vacation road trip we're on. She's not going to wake up, watch Good Morning Westeros, and then go lay by the pool_. He shuddered for a second when he thought of the pool at the Peach.

"You're up. Here, breakfast of champions," he said, sitting down next to her and placing one of the cups of coffee and one of the pop-tart packets in from of her. "Hope you like coffee."

"It's fine."

They ate in silence for while, though oddly enough it wasn't awkward for them not to talk.  _Not sure what we'd talk about anyways_ , he thought, watching her slam what had to be about half the coffee and practically inhale the pop-tarts.

"Were you serious?" Arya asked, breaking the silence, as she brushed the crumbs off her mouth with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "Ya know, about what you said last night."

"I am if you are."

"Good," she replied, nodding once affirmatively.

"Good," he echoed back. "Now finish that breakfast and get a shower. Probably can't stay holed up in this pit for too long and gods knows how long it'll be before we have a proper place to stay. Better take a shower while ya can. I'll call my guy."

She tore through the last pop-tart and immediately grabbed the bag she brought, heading towards the bathroom. Once he heard her turn the water on, he grabbed his cell phone off the table, flipping it open and dialing the number, listening to two rings, hanging up, waiting. Same as always.

Not thirty seconds after he shut the phone it began to buzz.

"Well done on the Monday job, Mr. Waters," the Spider said in his signature calm voice, not giving Gendry the time to say anything. "My little birds said it was very… discrete. You have our boss' thanks for eliminating that particular headache. But now, I must ask the reason for your call. We don't have another assignment for you quite yet."

"Well, I'm not sure how exactly to explain this. You know how the Starks were living next to me in the building on East 12th? Dunno if your spies have told you yet or not, but they're not there anymore. Lannister men came in late morning and as far as I can tell, took all of 'em out, save for the youngest girl."

"Arya."

"Yea, Arya."

"I am well aware of this situation. Power comes to families and power leaves families just as easily. The Reynes were once powerful too but now they're gone. The Targaryens have only one or two surviving members. A bit before your time, but I digress. So, pray tell, what exactly is the problem then?"

"The youngest girl, Arya. She's my problem. She wasn't there when it happened and came home when it was being cleaned. Hid out in my apartment and then we packed our shit and ran. The both of us. I couldn't just leave her there," he explained.

"And you want to know what to do with her?"

"I know what I'm doing with her. I need to know if you're on board with it. If  _he's_  on board with it. She wants them gone, the men who did this, their bosses, whoever was involved. She wants to do it herself, to do what I do, and she asked for my help." He had heard the shower turn off a minute or two earlier and found himself lowering his voice. He had been hoping she would be one of those girls that spent forever in the shower, but he should've known better.

"You agreed," the Spider said immediately, not as a question, but a simple statement of fact. There was no change in his voice, no way Gendry could tell what his agreement to help her would mean.

"I agreed," Gendry confirmed, looking over in time to see Arya leave the bathroom, clothes changed and toweling dry her hair.

"You know where our lines our drawn, who our allies are. The Stark and Baratheon alliance goes way back, much farther than you could ever imagine, and if this girl really is the last one, the appropriate people need to be informed." Gendry could hear him on the other end of the line, take a breath and then whisper something, but it was too low and muffled for him to make out what it was. He figured he was covering the receiver. "You're staying at the Peach?"

"Didn't know where else was safe," Gendry answered, totally unfazed by the fact that the Spider knew where he was.

"No, you're right there. There's an underground parking garage down the road, at Madison. You know the one?" Gendry answered that he did. "Good. You'll be there in forty-five minutes, level B2, section 3. There will be a black Mercedes waiting. Walk, bring the girl, and all of your things. You can leave your car at the Peach, my people will make sure it is returned to you. Do you understand?"

As soon as Gendry replied that he did, he heard the Spider hang up on the other end.

"That your boss?" Arya asked, sitting down on the corner of the bed as she re-braided her hair.

"Of sorts. He's the one who calls with the info, assignments. Only met him once, when they recruited me. It was at this hotel, actually," he explained, laughing to himself a bit and seeing how Arya eyed him suspiciously. "Never met the big guy though. In any case, get your stuff together. We've got our first appointment."

 **Four**.

Forty minutes later, they rounded the corner from section 2 into section 3 of the parking structure on Madison. It was mid-morning by then, so it was fairly quiet. It didn't take a genius to guess that most of the people who worked and used the structure were already in their offices.

Exactly five minutes later they both turned when they saw the headlights of a car coming around the corner into the area they were standing in. Arya stood still with her black backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder and Gendry's 'laptop' case in her right hand, as if waiting for a mysterious car in an underground parking structure was a normal Wednesday morning activity for her, and Gendry, large duffel bag at the ground by his feet, holding onto his briefcase and houseplant, much more nervous than her though trying desperately not to show it. There was normally much more information

The car, a shiny black Mercedes sedan, pulled up alongside them and Gendry heard the click of the doors unlocking, yet no driver came out of the car to greet them.

"Well, I guess we just get in," Arya said, walking around to the other side of the car. He watched as she opened the door and sat down inside before doing the same. It wasn't noticeable until they were inside, but the interior of the car had been customized to be like the insides of taxis or limos, with a wall shielding them from whoever was driving and a little pane of tinted glass at the top that would slide back and forth if need be.

They sat in silence for the better part of a half hour, mostly staring at their hands in their laps, though Gendry was glad that they were able to see out the windows.

It was Arya that spoke first.

"I know this area," she said. For the first time there was some real kind of emotion in her voice that wasn't anger. "I've been around here before, not for a long time though." She sounded almost excited, maybe thinking she was helping by recognizing where they were, as if they had been kidnapped.

_Well, we kind of have, if you think about it._

"We're definitely not in Flea Bottom anymore," Gendry said in return. "Probably close to the Red Keep Compound, if you can judge by these gated houses and fancy shops. Makes sense you'd have been 'round this area before, what with your family being so rich and all."

"We're not rich!" She snapped back at him.

"You're not? Seems everyone else must think differently then, eh? What with the two Escalades your parents rolled around in, or that big merger or whatever it was you moved down here for. Not to mention the fact that back home your house was called the Stark Estate—"

"Would you shut up?"  _Oh, there is that temper coming out again_ , he thought.  _We'll have to calm that if she's gonna succeed at this job._  "You were living in the same damn apartment as my family was, so I don't wanna hear about how rich my family was. Least we got our money through lawful means, unlike someone else I can think of."

They had turned now, facing each other instead of staring out the windows as the houses gradually got larger, the cars more than gradually got more flashy, and the car they rode in climbed higher and higher up the hill towards the Red Keep Compound. He watched her narrow her eyes at him and say those last few words insinuating what she thought of his jobs.

"Well, milady, I guess you better get used to that way of life. Yours ended yesterday and you're quickly heading down the path of mine, so try not to be too much of a hypocrite," he told her, just then noticing how tightly his hands were gripping the terra cotta pot the houseplant was in and loosening them slightly. "You're the one that asked me to help you, remember?"

"Gods, you're such an ass." She shook her head and continued to look out the window. "Looks like this is it," she said a few moments later. They both watched out the window as a large iron gate swung open in front of the car and they pulled up and around a circular driveway, slowing to a stop in front of what had to be the most impressive house that Gendry had thought he'd ever laid eyes on. Of all the powerful men he'd taken out in their homes, all the extravagant palaces and temples he'd seen in Dorne and across the Narrow Sea, he decided that this was definitely the most grand.

The doors to the car were opened simultaneously by two doormen in chauffeur uniforms who quickly divested both Arya and Gendry of their belongings, ushering them out of the driveway and in through the large double doors. The outside of the house was not very modern, but that old style popular in the Red Keep neighborhood – large white or beige earthy-toned houses with dark red brick and terra cotta accents that looked like they rose out of the very hill that they were built into. Gendry watched as Arya craned her head around at the front door when they entered. It was the same style as what you'd expect, with a large cursive capital B that split in half when both doors opened.

They quietly followed the same doormen further inside, taking notice that the inside of this house was much different than the outside. Dark walls, mostly with either very dark burgundy colored paint or equally as dark patterned wallpaper, hardwood floors, and walls lined with large portraits of men in suits, full families perfectly posed, or landscapes of stormy seas, all in ornate gold gilded frames. One room they passed looked like the sort of men's lounges out of old movies, pool tables with low hanging Tiffany stained glass lamps, overstuffed leather chairs, and heads of deer and other animals displayed proudly on the walls.

They turned a corner and the doorman opened a large wooden door, gesturing and nodding for them to enter. The office found themselves in was equally as dark as the rest of the house, neat and tidy, with floor to ceiling bookshelves along the walls that only stopped for the windows, all which still had the curtains pulled tightly shut. A fireplace burned lowly in one corner with a sitting area surrounding it. The light overhead came from a number of large ceiling fans. Directly across from the door was a large mahogany L-shaped desk with a mess of papers strewn about, a laptop open with a large monitor next to it, and two bankers lamps with green shades on either side. Whoever they were here to meet was sitting at the desk, facing away from them in a wine-colored leather office chair.

"Well, well, well," the man said, turning around in his chair, this one a rotating office chair. Gendry almost felt sorry for the chair for having to carry the burden of this man's weight, adding to his inability to keep a straight face. It wasn't lost on him that it seemed like they were in a cliché. He half expected the man to turn around and 'make him an offer he couldn't refuse.' He was dressed finely, that was for sure. When he stood up out of the chair, Gendry could see the man was about the same height as he was, but he wagered he was roughly three times his size. Paying no attention whatsoever to Gendry, his sole focus was on Arya standing next to him. "If it isn't Miss Arya Stark. I'd say you've gotten a lot bigger since the last time Ned had you here in my study, but I see that isn't the case."

Gendry heard her scoff under her breath, not trying to disguise it. "Well, I can't say the same thing about you, can I, Mr. Baratheon? You've certainly gotten a lot bigger since the last time we met."  _Oh, shit_ , Gendry thought.  _He knows her, but I hope she knows what she's doing right now, if he's the Baratheon that I think he is._

He watched her step away from his side and close the gap between herself and Mr. Baratheon, leaving about five feet separating them. Gendry waited and watched her as she raised her head to confidently meet the much larger man's eyes. He stared back at her, as if not sure what to make of it, before throwing his head back and erupting in a deep laughter. Arya quickly turned her head back to Gendry and flashed a smile, but before she knew it Mr. Baratheon had closed the space and threw his arms around her to hug her tightly, enough so to make Gendry unsure if she could still breathe.

"Don't just stand by the door, Waters," he said when he finally let go of Arya. "Come join us by the fire. We've got plenty to discuss." He motioned them towards the chairs by the fireplace and nodded at the doorman, who left and returned minutes later with a rolling drink cart topped with three short glasses and various crystal containers of honey-brown colored alcohol. They watched as the doorman poured all three and passed them around.

"Fifty-year Scotch from up north. Got it last time I was up there visiting the Starks. Been saving it for gods knows what, but I figured right about now we could probably all benefit from some," Mr. Baratheon explained.

Gendry took a hesitant sip from his glass. "Listen, Mr. Baratheon -"

"Call me Robert, would you? I think with the situation we've got ourselves in we can drop the formalities."

"Um, yes, of course... Robert. It's just that I thought it might be good if I explained what happened..." Gendry started, mentally hitting himself for being nervous.  _He's just my boss, right?_ Gendry asked himself.  _No, no he's not_ just _my boss. He's_ the _boss, the man who decides what calls the Spider makes and who is on my list next. There's probably enough security detail in this house to surround me before I even realize what's happening._

"I know why you're both here," he started, leaning forward in his seat to face Arya. "Seven hells, girl, I always thought it'd be me the Lannisters would get to first. Ned Stark was an honorable man, you've got to believe me. He only got involved in any of my work because I'd asked him, damn near begged him to move to Kings Landing to help me and now look where it's gotten us." He sat farther into the wingback chair and took a long drink out of his glass. "I never thought I'd outlive Ned and I sure as shit never thought that Arya Stark, the child that played with her siblings in these rooms ten years ago would be sitting in my study asking for my help to avenge her family. But such is the situation we find ourselves in and we - all of us - are going to have to deal with this."

Suddenly Gendry realized exactly what the ties where.  _For gods sake, Gendry, did you even pay attention to what the Spider said? Baratheons and Starks go way back. It shouldn't be a surprise to me at all that Arya would've met them before._

Arya opened her mouth as if to respond, but instead watched as Robert pressed the read intercom button on the phone set sitting on the side table next to his chair. "Meyers, please send him in now."

There was a bit of static before a man's gruff answered, "Right away, sir."

The large doors they entered through opened a moment later and Gendry watched, part surprised, as the Spider calmly walked through the door. His steps were soft and made almost no sound on the hardwood floor as he padded across and took his place standing next to Robert's chair. He made quick eye contact with Gendry and nodded his acknowledgement of him.

"I'm going to make myself perfectly clear. I want her good at this, boy, do you understand me? No botched jobs, no messes, no trail leading back to us. You got that?" He listened as Robert listed off his expectations with the Spider standing silently at his side, slightly bristled at the uncalled for familiarity in the way he referred to him as 'boy'. "We'll get you everything you need, but you're gonna take your time. You'll teach her to be perfect. Clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"And Arya," he said, turning towards her again, "I'm sorry but we're going to need to change things up quite a bit. My men are already working to find a place for you and Gendry to stay. It won't be what he's used to and it certainly won't be what you're used to but it'll have to do. We need you both to be able to relocate at a moment's notice from now on. Mr. Varys here will help to set you and Gendry up with an apartment as well as a small allowance. Of course, you will also have whatever payment Gendry receives from his normal jobs, which he will continue to do. If I cut to the chase, you'll have to lay low. The Lions are well aware that one young she-wolf was out of their reach and you can bet your life they'll be looking for you."

"I understand," Arya replied slowly, calmly. "Nothing will get done unless I disappear, become no one for as long as it takes... How soon do we start?"

Robert laughed. "How very eager you are. I think I've got operatives more skittish than you. Still, you've got to be patient, girl. Mr. Varys?"

The Spider took a single step forward before speaking. "You'll start today. Both of you." He turned his gaze over to Gendry and then back to Arya. "My little birds are our scouting as we speak, making arrangements. You both will disappear for a while , giving your enemies a chance to think Arya is no longer a threat. I expect you to train her so she is as talented as you are. Make no mistake, this is not a task that will be over in a few months or even a year. This is a long job and this will be done right. Do you understand, Mr. Waters?"

"Yes, sir."

He eyes shifted back to Arya.

"And you, Miss Stark, do you understand?"

She stood and faced him, head tilted up to look at him.

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"Very well," the Spider replied.

He reached into the left side of the khaki trench coat, pulled out a manila envelope, and held it out, offering it towards Arya. A faint smile played across his face as she reached out instinctively to grab it.

"Welcome to Baratheon."


	3. Part Three

She'd never felt more powerful in her life than the first time Gendry handed her the sniper rifle. She'd been hunting a couple times, many years ago on her grandfather's property and a couple of times in the Wolfswood, both times with clunky old relics that were too heavy and awkward for her to ever get a real feel for it. By now she'd had months of target practice, but as she ran her fingers softly over the cold metal barrel, took her first glance through the telescopic sight, and slowly adjusted the bipod legs up and down she knew this was different. She hadn't gone too far with this plan yet, she still had time and could still go back on her pleas to him to help her.

She didn't.

He'd asked a dozen times by now if she was sure that this was what she really wanted.

“Once you start down this path, it's not something you can easily put behind you,” he’d said. They’d been eating breakfast that time, sitting around the folding card table they used as a kitchen table in their sparse studio apartment. When Robert Baratheon had told them both that their lifestyles would change, he certainly wasn't kidding. “It's not a pastime or a hobby that you can put down and then return to and pick up when the moment suits you.”

She still agreed. Every time he asked, she agreed. _Not_ _as if I'd have anywhere to go_ , she thought each time he asked. _Don't you remember what happened_ , she'd want to ask. _You were right there_.  

They left the Baratheon mansion that day with the goods they carried with them and another manila envelope, Arya's first. Inside was a note with the address of the apartment building they were to live in, run a landlord whose leasing standards were rather dodgy but conveniently had good ties to Robert. A four story brick building in Flea Bottom, the side of town her mother would pale to think of her daughter living in, it was run down to say the least, but when you turned the kitchen faucets or shower on the water ran clear, so it had that advantage over the Peach.

Once Gendry started her training, the pair quickly fell into a comfortable pattern. They were given enough money in the envelope to get started and he had his money from before, but it was not nearly as much as Arya had thought they would get. They couldn't just call up Robert Baratheon and ask for some more money whenever they needed it and Gendry needed to focus on training her, so he was not going to be able to take as many jobs as he usually could. All of the movies had told her that mob hit men led extravagant fast-paced lives, full of strip clubs, designer suits, intrigue, and various high-tech weaponry, but this was downright domestic.

The apartment was an unfurnished studio with a small kitchenette. He'd handed her a hundred dollars in twenties once he realized there was absolutely nothing there and sent her off with strict instructions to buy furniture and supplies, specifically only what they would absolutely need, none of that 'fancy shit' she was used to before. She'd seen a second-hand shop and dollar store on their drive back from Baratheon, walked the few blocks over, and came back later with the bare necessities: folding card table, two folding chairs, two plates, two sets of cutlery, the oldest microwave known to man, a frying pan, large stockpot, a wooden spoon, two towels, and a large blanket.  

She lugged everything up the four flights of stairs, knocking on the door with her foot until he answered, and awkwardly handed him back the three dollars and a couple of coins she had as change while trying to balance everything. "Mattress'll get delivered later today. Found the cheapest one still wrapped in plastic that the store had. It's probably used too but it looked fairly clean," she explained, shrugging her shoulders and starting put away what she'd bought into their tiny kitchen. "We'll have to share."

He nodded and said nothing. _Well, at least he's not making a big deal out of it like at the Peach. Shithole apartment isn't big enough for two beds anyways_. She finished setting up the table and chairs and watched as he sat the houseplant down as the centerpiece as soon as she'd finished.

And so it was that they settled into their domestic lifestyle. The Spider had been perfectly clear that they were going to spend the first month or two living low, letting the Stark murders fade from the spotlight and giving the media as much of a chance as possible to forget that no one ever found Arya Stark. The first two months were brutal for Arya, monotonous, tedious, boring. Gendry had a routine and she became part of it. It was easier that way. She woke up when he did, exercised when he exercised, side by side doing push-ups on the apartment floor. Each morning she went to the little grocer at the corner to buy milk, bread, eggs, cereal, whatever they needed, and she soon became an expert at making toast overtop of the gas burner. There was no television set, Gendry deemed that even the cheapest ones she had found at the second-hand shop were too much, but they both read through the Kings Landing Times every day, keeping their own tabs on the police investigation. She found herself doing most of the chores, the grocery shopping, carting their dirty clothes down to the laundromat, but she decided that she didn't mind since it gave her a chance to get outside of the little apartment.

A week or two in, after three days of torrential downpour stopping her normal daily tasks, she paced across the small living area of the apartment, stopping every couple of laps to anxiously tap her feet in front of their one large window, chew on her bottom lip and scowl at the rain, before starting on her pacing again.

"Can you stop that?" he asked abruptly, making her stop to turn and face him. "It's driving me crazy." Gendry sat at the folding table, three old issues of the Times in front of him, biting a pencil between his teeth as he narrowed his eyes in contempt of the crossword. It was the first thing he'd said all day.

"I can't!" she said loudly, almost yelling. "And I don't give a shit that it's driving you crazy! You wanna know what's driving me crazy? Being stuck in this closet all damn day. Never thought I'd say this, but fucking hells, do I miss grocery shopping!" She let out a large groan and ran her hands through her hair, getting her fingers stuck in tangles, only to get frustrated at that as well.

"Come over here and sit down." She looked over as he picked up the three papers and casually dropped them to the floor beside the table.

She didn't want to think she'd gone soft in two weeks, but most traces of her initial hesitance or distrust of him were gone. He clearly wasn't going to hurt her and also had no intent to hand her over to the proper authorities. He hadn't complained once about sharing the bed, though he had ran down to the thrift shop the second day and bought himself his own blanket. They still didn't chit-chat idly and for the most part they didn't speak at all, but every once in a while one of them would let something slip about their past, about what things were like before. It was because of that, the little bits and pieces he let her hear, that she began to trust him, so she sat down at the table, like he'd told her to.

"What's going on?"

"We're starting your training," he replied nonchalantly when he stood up from the table, grabbing the bag she knew his handgun was in and returning to sit down again.

She could tell her excitement was showing on her face by the way he looked at her.

"Don't get too excited. We'll be staying inside."

"But how do I get training that way?"

"You really think I'm just gonna cart you down to the range and let you handle one of these just like that? Have you even held a gun before?" He set the laptop case down on the table, fingers instinctively moving the dials on the lock, and opening it. She pushed herself up in the chair, straightening her posture to try and get a good view inside, she'd never actually seen it opened before. Inside the case was a molded foam insert, holding twin handguns nested together, almost the same way that shoes sit in a shoebox.

"This," he started, carefully yet confidently picking up the one closest to Arya's side of the table, "is your new best friend. You will learn everything about her, like she's your lover. You'll learn how she works, what makes her tick, how to quickly take her apart and put all the pieces back together correctly. She'll help you through your training and if you treat her right, she won't ever let you down."

Arya watched as he held out the gun to her, cautiously placing it in her hands. She felt the weight of it tentatively, glad that it was not as heavy as she was worrying it'd be. She thought about what he'd said just a few second ago, bringing the gun up to eye level and turning it around at all angles to get a good hard look at it. _I've never had a best friend, not to mention a lover,_ she thought, _but I promise to treat you right._

Gendry picked up her gun's twin, setting it on the table in front of him. "We're going to have to start at the beginning, the mechanics, how she works. I'll take mine apart, you'll do the same, and then we'll put them back together. Over and over again until you can do it as fast as I can, got it?"

She nodded. "Got it."

"Just one more thing," he said. "She's gotta have a name."

Arya didn't need to think. The word tumbled out of her lips before she'd had the time to realize it.

"Nymeria."

She practiced non-stop for a week after that, even though the rain had long stopped. Gendry spent his afternoons at the table working the crosswords and she would sit across from him with Nymeria, taking her apart, cleaning her, putting her back together. Her new lover, her new best friend. Every night before bed they would race each other and two weeks in she matched his time, jumping up and shouting her excitement for whoever was on the other side of the apartment's paper thin walls to hear, forgetting herself for a split second and almost hugging him, before she remembered that this wasn't a video game with her siblings. He didn't seem to notice the faux pas she almost committed, but she could feel herself blushing furiously anyways and thanked the Seven for the crappy industrial lighting in the apartment. The next day after lunch he pulled another gun, larger and more complicated this time, out of one of his bags she didn't even know was a gun case and they began again.

Two and a half months had past when Gendry's weekly calls to the Spider yielded good news. The coverage of the murders had died down, no longer captivating the media as they did when they were fresh, some controversial merger between Lannister Investments and much smaller Frey Banking taking the spotlight instead. Arya started her shooting practice on the first day of spring, the same day as her eighteenth birthday. She woke up to find that Gendry had made breakfast, so she figured that the rarity of that coupled with finally going to the range was as good of a present as any. For the first time in what seemed like forever they took his car to the range, since it was out of their normal two mile or so walking radius around the apartment. The range was almost empty and she was glad of it. It was slow going. She was terrible at it, just gods awful. The worst part was his silence. Each time they practiced she could feel him standing behind her, silent and judging, speaking only when there were mistakes.

Some days he would stand close to her, hands on her elbows or hips to help position her correctly, and she'd have to remind herself when her heart would start to pound that this was Gendry. The same guy who spoke to his houseplant when he thought she couldn't hear him, who got upset when his lack of education made the crossword more difficult than it should have been, who got more upset when Arya was able to easily answer difficult clues and would tease her for her private school education, who made her go to the grocer at seven in the morning to get ketchup for his eggs, because he just _had_ to have it. He hummed decades old top 40s boy band hits when he showered, most of which that Arya recognized from her older brothers' girlfriends, and she'd be a liar if she said she didn't sing along under her breath from the other side of the door. The same guy who would start the night off as far away on the other side of the lumpy full-size mattress as he could get, almost far enough that she could swear that he might as well have been on the floor, but each time the police sirens or elevated train rumbling would wake her up in the middle of the night, Arya would find strong arms around her and shake her head, going back to sleep. _It was just instinct_ , she told herself. _The apartment is drafty and always cold, he can't help what he does while he's sleeping_. Every morning she'd wake up curled in her own blanket, Gendry as far away as he could get once more.

Eventually, one by one, she started to get little things right. Not closing her eyes when she pulled the trigger. Controlling her breathing. Getting shots to hit anywhere on the target, then closer to the chest, then the head. He wasn't one for grand displays of praise. She learned right away not to expect applause and certainly not the hug she got from her dad when she surprised him by hitting a straw target with his old bow and arrow many, many year ago. Arya knew better, but she also soon learned to revel in the half-smile, the "good job, kid", and more often than not, just the look in his eyes that told her that maybe, just maybe she was getting the hang of this.

Of course, as soon as he could tell that she was feeling comfortable he would change something on her, different gun, different style of target, maybe a moving one, farther away, obstructed view. He loved to throw in the moving ones when she got too cocky, which was more often than she'd like to admit. They'd get in his neglected car and drive out to the Kingswood, to an outdoor range to make her shoot the clays and see how bad she actually was. She watched him, jaw slack with awe as he hit each target. The overall routine was always the same though, month after month. Wake up, push-ups, sit-ups, breakfast. Shower, gun range, grocer, dinner.

It was almost six months to the day from when they first started target shooting when he announced they'd be going someplace different for their practice that day. They drove to the outskirts of Kings Landing to an old industrial complex near the shipping yards. The broken windows and rusted barbed wire told her the place hadn't been used in years, but Gendry new exactly where to park, exactly where the hole in the fence they could slip through was. She had no clue what they were doing there and he'd given no clues, but she trusted him now, almost implicitly.

She trailed behind him as he guided their way up three flights of concrete stairs which had clearly seen better days, and quite possibly an earthquake, emerging into a walkway that overlooked the entire building.

He gently took the duffle bag off his shoulder and put it down on the ground. "You probably thought that your training was almost done, and if you did, you were wrong," he announced bluntly. She said nothing, sucking in a breath and walking over to join him. For someone that was usually so quiet, only really speaking to her when he had to, save for when they felt safe enough to share various details of their past, he spoke almost eloquently when he talked about her training. Each time it surprised her and each time she wished he could be like this about something else, anything.

"Your lover Nymeria might be good for every day use if you wanted to concealed carry, but this job isn't about protecting yourself if you're at the grocer and someone tries to rob it. Doesn't matter how good of a shot you become, you'll never be good enough to hit your target from as far away as we'll need to be." She watched him as he knelt down on the concrete, unzipped the bag, and handed her a large, black sniper rifle, not even trying to conceal her surprise at the weight of it, the size of it, or of how powerful just holding it awkwardly in her hands made her feel.

"It's Pentoshi," he continued. "Military. One of the best. Can't buy this gem down at the sporting goods store. You've got your lover, now meet the mistress."

She saw his smirk as she handled it awkwardly, like someone that'd never held a newborn before. "Here," he started, taking a step forward, adjusting Arya's arms like a mannequin. "You'll always use it propped up on something or lying on the ground to keep it steady and level, but it'll work this way too of course. She'll need a name too, this little lady, just like Nymeria."

She thought about Nymeria, the gun she'd come to love so much over the past months, and it dawned on her how alike the gun and her were. Both were small, much more powerful than meets the eye, easily hidden, unexpected but dependable. Looking down at the new weapon in her hands, all she could see were the differences. It looked strong, powerful, and it was, but if you were off your aim by a millimeter you were screwed. The rifle was skillfully designed, elegant and shiny, the barrel long and almost elegant, where Nymeria was scuffed from Arya's abuse, small and compact.

It dawned on her suddenly and she wasn't sure how she hadn't thought of it right away.

"Lady," Arya answered, running her hands down the barrel again, then hefting the weapon up higher and closing one eye to look through the scope, pointing it out over the open warehouse. "For my sister," she added softly.

Gendry nodded, accepting her answer without question, and gestured towards the concrete ground before sitting down. "Well, then, guess it's time you and Lady got better acquainted," he said. He grabbed his own rifle out and began the lessons they came there for.


	4. Part Four

It was the first time.

 

The first time she had shot at anything that wasn't a target at the range or in that abandoned warehouse. The first time her target had a pulse and if she did her job right then soon it wouldn't. She was in dark black frayed jean shorts, she'd taken the old pair of jeans from her apartment when they left and cut them into shorts with a razor once the weather turned warm. The same one he'd used a year ago to cut off her hair when she'd finally gotten sick of it always being in tangles and realized they didn't own scissors. The sun beat down and she could feel the sweat starting to accumulate at the small of her back, soaking into her black and white striped cotton T-shirt top, cut short across her stomach, not trying to show anything off really, her stomach was not flat from hours at the gym, but lack of money contributing to a lack of good food. Maybe the exercises they still did each morning helped, she didn't care either way. He stood behind her now, like he always did, leaning up against the wall of the emergency exit door, in the shadows and out of the way. She was lying on the sun-warmed concrete rooftop of the tall downtown building, unable to see him behind her but also unable to ignore the feeling of his eyes boring into her. She knew he was watching. He always watched her, silently, leaving his critiques, if any, for later. The critiques were ample at first, but faded less and less as her training progressed. Days had turned into weeks, weeks to months, and soon it had been almost a year and a half of training, waiting, stalking, and meeting with the Spider when he had information for them.

 

She settled into position, finger floating over the trigger, calming and stilling herself, using the deep breathes he'd taught her. As she looked through the sight, she saw her target. The Tickler. He had a civilian name, but she chose to think of him only as his pseudonym, maybe it was easier that way. Maybe she just didn't care who he really was. She remembered when Gendry had thrown a manila file folder down on their folding kitchen table a week ago. He'd left in the early morning, before sunrise, to go retrieve it and tossed it down in front of her as she ate her breakfast. It contained everything the Spider had managed to dig up without alerting the authorities. "Read it," he'd said. "Know your target." She didn't bother. All that mattered was that right now, at this very moment, he was sitting there, fifteen stories below at the outdoor cafe. Same place every Sunday, like clockwork. Cafe for brunch, Bloody Mary, breakfast special. Not smart for someone in his line of work, but everyone has their routines, Lannister-paid lackeys too if you watched close enough. During his off time he was so different from the man she knew had killed multiple members of her family.

 

_He_ _i_ _s the same person_ , she remembered. _Don't fool yourself._ She focused, squinted, centered him in the crosshairs, and waited for that perfect moment when all the sounds around her were vacuumed out and all that existed was her and her target. She breathed once, twice, and at the top of the third breath she pulled the trigger, watched his body jolt in response, fall out of his spot in the chair and slump forward, revealing the deep red blood spatter pattern on the wall behind him.

 

_Head shot. Perfect_ , she told herself.

 

Pushing herself up onto her knees, she immediately began to disassemble her gun, nimble fingers taking all the different components apart and setting them quickly yet gingerly into the open case sitting on the concrete next to her. Every little piece had an exact cut out part in the foam. She was normally amazed everything by how perfect it was, but this time she didn't think about it. They had to leave the rooftop and get back to their apartment, and they had to do it now. 

 

Closing the case, she snapped it shut and spun the lock. From the outside, it looked like a cross between a briefcase and a laptop case. No one had ever questioned it. She quickly stood up and put on her worn leather jacket, threw her messenger bag over her shoulders, picked up the gun case, and half-jogged the few yards back over to where Gendry was standing. He was already holding the door open and just nodded, not meeting her eyes, barely acknowledging her after what she'd accomplished. He followed close behind her as they ran down the fifteen floors of stairs. She could hear their footsteps pounding on the metal stairs, reverberating in the stairwell, each flight they descended leading them back to the real world where 19 year old girls didn't learn to use black market Pentoshi sniper rifles from ex-military sharp-shooters that now sold their skills to the underground Baratheon crime syndicate in Flea Bottom. She had no idea where she would be normally. Would she be at university, living in student housing, taking boring classes, and spending three nights a week at the local pub chatting up upperclassmen?  _That’s exactly where Sansa would be now_ , she thought for a second. But it wasn’t. Word from the Spider's spies inside the Lannister organization was that there were rumors swirling around even from within their own operatives that her sister's body, as well as those of both her younger brothers, were not with the rest of her family when the apartment was cleaned. She'd heard nothing solid about any of them in over a year though, and all the Spider could offer her were rumors that did nothing to make her believe Sansa, Bran, or Rickon was living. It was easier to think they were dead, like the rest of them.

 

Somehow Gendry had gotten ahead of her in the staircase and had opened up the emergency exit door to the ground level alleyway. She pulled her brown tinted aviators down and finally got a good look at him. The stoic looks he normally gave her were replaced with a look of pride, almost awe. After all, she had succeeded. _Only the first target, but nothing at all to balk at._ Arya breathed heavily, catching her breath from running down the stairs, and couldn't help but look up him, wishing for praise. _Stupid bull._ But he was silent as ever.

 

A silence which broke with the piercing wails of police sirens from somewhere nearby.

 

"Oh, fuck," he mumbled under his breath. He'd grabbed her hand and they ran. Ran the next eleven blocks back to the old run down side of town, the only area were Robert was confident that no one would search for Arya Stark. Many of the buildings' owners had their hand in the Baratheon cookie jar, so that influence allowed them to pay weekly, allowed them a way out of background checks or bank references, not that this was the type of place that would ask for bank references in the first place. For the first time since she came home to find her family killed, Arya was scared. Scared of being caught, but not by the police. The Lannisters would prove a much more unforgiving captor if it came down to that. They didn't get caught though, not even close. She had taught herself to be a good little actress, wiping all traces of fear off her face and giggling like a middle-schooler. From the outside it just looked like a young man and woman running through a city street, laughter from coming her unbidden, acting childish. The type of display that would make older couples look back in jealously at the carefree nature of it all.

 

They rounded the corner onto West 93rd, flung open the outside entrance door to their four story building, and ran up the four flights of stairs to their unit. She doesn't remember who reached the door first, who threw it open, or even who bothered to unlock it,because Gendry _always_ locked it. After that, she remembers everything and thinks she always will. He kicked the door, slamming it shut loud enough to wake the neighbors next door or below, but they never worried about that. They stood there in silence, breathing loudly, leaning against the door. It might have been the adrenaline still pumping through her veins from her first kill and their subsequent chase that made her do it, but that doesn't matter now. Within seconds her subconscious had made its decision and she'd turned to him, grabbing him behind his head and pulling him down to meet her lips in a rough kiss.

 

There was a bit of shock at first when he realized what was going on, but he paused just for a quick second before kissing her back eagerly, putting into it the same amount of fight as she was. He only pulled away when the feeling of her small hand slipping under his t-shirt brought him back to the present.

 

“Arya, what are you --”

 

“Shut up,” she replied, gritting her teeth, obviously annoyed at the lack of contact.

 

“But…”

 

“No, shut up. I need this.”

 

“You... need this?” He asked, confused. He'd pulled one of her hands out from under his shirt, laced their fingers together and pressed it up against the door behind her, but she had not turned and ran away, not that there was anywhere to go in their small studio apartment. She still stood there, inches away from him backed up against the door, going back and forth between staring at her feet and up into his eyes.

 

“Yes. I... I just fucking killed someone, and it was nothing, it was easy! I don't know what I expected that I would feel, at least something? Accomplishment? But I feel empty, just nothing. I can't help but think that this is how they felt... how they felt when..." She didn't finish her sentence, but she didn't need to. He understood. By this time, her other hand was at his waist again, tightly holding a fist full of shirt. “So yes, I need this. Please, Gendry, I need to feel something.”

 

There was nothing romantic about their first time together, but it didn't surprise him in the slightest that it was her move in the first place after all. There was nothing passive about either of their roles and while there was no romance, it would have been a blatant lie to say it was devoid of emotion. It was full of emotion, just not the loving caresses and tender words her long gone mother and possibly dead, possibly missing sister always said her first time should be about. There was passion and longing and anger, so much anger.

 

He’d looked down at her, her eyes staring straight ahead at his chest, hand still grasping at his shirt, and he knew his expression had softened somewhat. _Wasn’t this what it was like for him the first time he’d had to deal with the feelings she’s having now?_ He’d just dealt with it a bit differently that’s all, by making love to a mug of beer and congratulations from the rest of his group.

 

She felt one of his large callused hands touch the side of her face, felt his grasp tighten possessively, and when she looked up to finally meet his eyes he moved her right hand that he still held against the door and placed it at the nape of his neck again. She took her chance and was on pulling him back down in an instant, trying to make up for everything she wasn’t feeling and smiled against his lips when she didn’t feel him pull away when her hands made their way back under his thin t-shirt, grabbing at his hips before breaking away to pull his shirt over his head, throwing it off into the kitchen somewhere.

 

_It's only going to be once. A moment of weakness. A primal sort of need to feel something, to connect with someone that knew what it was like._ It wasn't like he hadn't spent the past year or so trying desperately to shove these sorts of thoughts about her out of his head. At least, that's what Gendry told himself as he reached down, strong hands grabbing the underside of her thighs, easily lifting her up, her getting the idea quickly and wrapping her legs tightly around his hips, grinding down on him as he pushed her back to the door. She was so light and easy to hold there, he wasn't sure how long he had her there, too absorbed in finding out the different sorts of sounds she'd make when he moved his mouth from just below her earlobe to the spot in her collarbone that was probably more hollow than it should've been. He was pleased with himself to draw out another low moan from her, followed by a high-pitched squeak of surprise when he carried her away from the door and over the seven or so feet to the lumpy full-sized mattress on the floor that passed for their bed. Even though Arya was being rougher than he'd thought she'd be, all teeth and bites and nails, coming off like she knew exactly what she was doing, he had a pretty good idea that this was purely instinct driving her actions, and that she'd never done this before. Something told him that if it was actually her first time he shouldn't fuck her up against their front door.

 

They wouldn't talk about it afterwards or have some meaningful conversation about how this would affect their relationship, while lying in each other's arms during a post-orgasm afterglow. He'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't wanted their relationship to swerve towards that aspect. Arya had quickly become his best friend, one of his only friends, and while out of mutual stubbornness they were cold to each other more often than not for the first few months of their life together, the walls they put up had slowly started to break down.

 

He wasn't oblivious of the little things, far from it. He couldn't have had this type of job if he was. The proximity of her during their training, the way she felt curled up around him when he'd wake up in the middle of the night, or the way she would look slightly startled and off-kilter for a few seconds when he'd walk out of the bathroom halfway through changing.

 

If he hadn't been aware of how small Arya was before, he was keenly aware of it now, lying on top of her, weight supported on his elbows.

 

When he thought about how his life would end, Gendry had always thought he'd go out with a bang, captured by the police, maybe even captured by a rival crime syndicate and tortured for hours in a subterranean holding room, hells, could be he'd just get picked off by another sniper when the Spider grew weary of him. Soon he realized what it would actually be. He leaned back, sitting on his knees and watching her, his rebellious rich girl turned assassin, looking perfectly content on a mattress from a resale shop. She carelessly pushed back messy hair that could swallow a hairbrush before quickly pulling off her striped shirt and those shorts she'd made out of jeans a while back. She was beautiful. Messy and dirty, imperfect, sweaty from their run across town, and the tan line which he could now see that ran across her stomach and just above her breasts was oddly endearing. Nothing was perfect about her and that was exactly the way he liked it. He had definitely realized what would do him in at the end of it, and she was right here. Arya Stark would be the death of him.

 

XxXxXxXxX

 

Men's voices. Whenever she remembered, which was much more often than she'd have liked to, she always remembered the men's voices.

 

“Any special instructions, boss?”

 

Tenor. Nasally. Whiny.

 

“Joffrey said to save that one, the ginger bitch.”

 

Deep. Growling. Raspy, like sandpaper.

 

“Which one?”

 

“The younger one, you dip shit. The fuck do you think Joffrey wants Catelyn Stark for? He wants his little pet back, the _pretty_ one.”

 

Lecherous, like when her Professor Baelish called on her during lecture. The emphasis he placed on that word alone was enough to make her nauseous.

 

The day they came for her family had started like any normal day. She'd woken up, frustrated that she was unable to sleep in since she was out late with friends the night before at some dance club downtown, and saw she was alone in her bedroom. Grudgingly, she shared a room with Arya, something she'd never have had to do back at the estate and she was loathe to do it now, but it wasn't like her to question her mother. That was her sister's job and she did it well enough for the both of them.

 

Arya always received praise from her mother for volunteering to make an almost daily walk a couple of blocks to the shops and pick up whatever fresh groceries were needed for the day. Her parents never asked for the change back and Sansa knew that Arya only went of her own volition because she could use the change and buy cigarettes from the corner store that was less than observant about the legal age.

 

That's where she was that morning, probably three-quarters of a mile away, no clue what was happening here.

 

Part of her wished Arya was there. She was quick on her feet, she could have helped. _No, Sansa_ , she told herself, _you're an idiot. She's a quick thinker, but like that would be any match against automatic weapons._

 

Sansa was busy with something when the pounding on the door started and her father answered it. Busy with picking out her outfit for her university classes later, or her hair, or putting on her makeup. She couldn't remember now. It was all a blur, fuzzy pictures, bits and pieces of information.

 

Men's voices that were unfamiliar, her dad's normally strong voice saying something shakily about “being reasonable” and Robb's “how much money did they want” before the rattling of gun shots. Her mother's shrill scream, a loud cracking noise followed by an even louder thump. The short conversation about which Stark they wanted followed.

 

There was no way out of her room. The large window led to nowhere, save a four story fall to the sidewalk, so she found herself hiding in her closet. No way to close it from the inside, despite her efforts to push her fingers under the bottom to pull it closed, so it hung open slightly. Pressed up against last night's shoes and the bottoms of jeans and formal dresses she crouched, and a stray thought came through her mind about how in all those horror movies her brothers watched you could always here the hiding-but-soon-to-be-dead girl's rapid heartbeat, but yet all she heard was booted footsteps tromping towards her room, the door flinging open, and a man taller than she'd ever seen grabbing a handful of her hair and wrenching her out of the closet, the clothes she was tangled up in falling to the ground after her.

 

She was tall, taller than her mother and almost as tall as her father, but the man who pulled her out was the tallest man she'd ever seen, muscled even through his clothes, but aside from that there was nothing else distinguishing about him. The voice in her head that thought back to lazy Sundays full of Law & Order marathons kept saying, “get a good look at him, don't struggle, he could snap you in half.” There wasn't much after that. The hallway, her father and Robb bleeding out on the hardwood, slumped over each other, her mother laying on the couch with her head cracked open, presumably smacked with gun to knock her out when she screamed.

 

She hoped Arya had chosen that morning to go to the corner store, to convince the apathetic cashier to sell her cigarettes. She hoped there was a long line to stall her, people with coupons or government aide vouchers, old ladies trying to pay with personal checks, anything. Suddenly a thought hit her that hadn't before – where was Bran? And Rickon? It wasn't that late in the morning yet, was it? Normally Osha took them both to school in the mornings, she prayed to whichever gods would hear her that that was what happened.

 

Sansa remembered staring. Not knowing if her mother was still breathing. She'd told herself she wouldn't struggle, but started to anyways. A few wiggles turned quickly into stomping and kicking, then screaming. The man's hands had made bruises on her forearms, but he let her go, briefly giving her some hope, which was just as soon by a right hook to the left side her face, knocking her off her feet and sending her stumbling backwards across the room, hitting her back against the built-in bookshelves.

 

The last thing she remembered was the damp rag held tight over her nose and mouth, then darkness.

 

It was late, about 3:30am, when she got out of bed, slipping on her moccasins left neatly on the floor beside the bed and tip-toeing out of his room. He expected her there when he went to sleep, but she had her own room too, which she would switch to in the middle of the night. Joffrey had long passed out, greedily sprawled across the middle of the king bed. _Funny, he somehow even manages to take things away from me when he's not awake_. By the day Joffrey was your normal sort of millionaire playboy. The same kind Robb might have ended up being if their father hadn't worked to keep us all grounded. He had a business degree from some private Ivy League school that someone in his family had donated a wing to, a plush job at the top of Lannister Trading, and was followed around by secretaries in too-tight pencil skirts and low cut tops that definitely were not work appropriate. She knew he was fucking all of them and probably half of the young socialites in Kings Landing, but it didn't matter if he was with someone else besides Sansa Stark. Sansa Stark was dead, along with the rest of her family. Sansa Stark no longer existed.

 

By night, he was different. He had an out of control gambling problem, and she had to parade around in those awful slinky dresses he'd buy for her, hanging on his shoulder when he laid down a straight flush as if he actually knew what he was doing.

 

_And the Academy Award for Best Actress goes to... Sansa Stark, for the role of... hating every second of my gods damned life._

_Well_ , she thought, _not_ every _second_.

 

"...someone's been working, Sandor. Slowly. I hope they start picking them off one by one." She uncrossed her legs, bringing them up and under her, pulling herself farther into this lap. It scared her sometimes when she realized she said vengeful, hateful things like that. _I wasn't always like this, not before. They_ made _me like this._

 

"I know, Little Bird, I heard him say it too during dinner."

 

"They said the Tickler is gone. Someone shot him straight through between the eyes while he was eating brunch. Brunch! Isn't that just the most absurd thing you've ever heard? I heard Meryn say they think the shot was from about 4000 feet," she said, hands weaving through his hair. "It sounds like they're scared," she whispered.

 

"Aye, they'd better be. Someone who can hit a target at that distance is damn good, probably a pro."

 

They sat for a while in silence. She was good at being quiet, at listening, choosing her words and twisting them so that their meanings were only obvious to certain people. She was able to crawl out of bed at night and wander, partially because she'd led them to believe she had insomnia, but mostly because everyone was either drunk or high out of their minds and wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. Sandor was an excellent bodyguard for Joffrey, despite how much he really despised having to keep him alive. She had initially been taken aback by him, the hard ass demeanor, silent, brooding, and giant, or as she thought of it now, slightly introverted, raised by himself, a thinker, and dear gods, a body like the warrior himself. It wasn't just that though. Since it happened and she'd been under house arrest in the Lannister mansion, he'd been a constant presence. He'd always kept watch over her, kept her safe, and once they realized they both like to spend the early hours of the morning roaming the halls, they'd started to talk more. She'd been mistaken in assuming he was just some Lannister muscle, thoughtless following orders, just as he'd been mistaken in thinking she was a little bird, chirping niceties at her masters even when they kept in locked up in a cage day and night. They both ended up surprised when they talked and found out they had things in common, a love of soccer, though rival teams, and shared interest in 80s rock, though he was not nearly as into Bruce Springsteen as she seemed to be. Whatever they had now, this odd relationship that consisted of stony glances during the day and secret meetings at 3am, it would never have grown into anything if they hadn't realized that the other put up the same kind of defenses as they did themselves.

 

"Sandor?"

 

"Hmm? What is it?"

 

"If they're coming after the Lannister lackeys, you don't think that you're in danger, do you?"

 

"Just _being_ a Lannister lackey means I'm always in danger, you know that." He must've seen the way her expression change, obviously not the answer she'd wanted to here. "Hey, you know I can protect myself, and you know I would kill anyone that tried to touch you. Besides, I'd like to personally thank whoever took out that Tickler bastard, buy 'em a drink even. No, Sansa, it'll be our lucky fuckin' day if they keep this up." He paused to take her chin with his thumb and forefinger, moving her to meet his eyes. "It's only going to make it easier for us to leave."


End file.
